


Red Strings

by Mavis_Squared



Series: Short Stories/Books For College Majors [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 20:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mavis_Squared/pseuds/Mavis_Squared
Summary: This is a book I am currently making for an attempt to get into a high classed Psychology major for college.If the theme of: society’s corruptionsTriggers you at all, I suggest you do not read,  or read with caution.Otherwise, Enjoy!





	Red Strings

Natalie has an description to equal her thoughts. 

Blonde females to most people are stereotypical idiots, but she was actually pretty smart. Piercing blue eyes that stared down at you till you cave in on yourself. Tall, broad shouldered, wide hipped. 

She liked to take her thoughts and make them real. She tried hard to do it, too. She was, and wanted, to be completely accepting of everyone. She was kind, really. But her thoughts and words could overcome her kindness and looks.

There’s only one thing Natalie had to say to the world: “What is your problem.”

As a young girl, Natalie had no idea of societies corruptions and damages. She was oblivious to the pain and horror that was being laid at her feet. She finally noticed when she opened her eyes to the world.

Age Eleven is when she found herself drowning in the deep reddening golden hues of the hell of society. Icey blue eyes sparkling at a young age dulled to a gray as she realised her faults and flaws. 

Age Twelve, she was surrounded by red lines. They wrapped around her throat, her arms, her hands. They covered her eyes as she struggled to breathe. Those red lines were strings. People thought of red strings as fates, a connection to a lover or to a prosperous outcome. Truth was, they weren’t. 

Red Strings are torture. Red Strings are society trying to blind you from truth and solicity. Even though “Red Strings” can be seen as a connection to a soulmate -and some are-, they can lead to an enemy. 

Enemy. An enemy can be yourself, another person, an object, a thought. It’s a haze, reality. It’s just blurs of colorful hues over a black backdrop.

It's confusing, calm. It's too calm. The Red Strings are outrageous, hurtful, downgrading. The amp of anxiety they brought with them. It's painful, agonizing. They choke you till your face goes blue and you wheeze and drop. 

Red strings are the last things you see before you die. It's all your faults and fails and your goods and greats.   
Reddening Gold hues of hell in means of which society is. 

It's still suffocating.

But we are blinded by its beauty.

If is one said by dying light, I would be void. And the words are hopes choked out by red strings.

Do you ever feel fear in the most simple things? The tiniest thing can set you edge. It’s the red strings wrapped around your throat. It’s society's rules being shoved down your throats, being fed to you as if to make you comply with every demand!

Natalie can write poems, books, paragraphs, but she can’t figure out what the sole purpose of her wrongs are. 

If she were to actually speak, would she be beaten down? If even an intimidating, mountain of a girl can fall. Like pebbles, she can crumble at the smallest things, the lightest whispers. 

She wouldn’t let her tears loose for anything, as much as she can try to hold them back. Her hands shake and her chest tightens with the intent to kill her at every given moment. She’s scared, but she won’t show it.

She has too much to live for, she’s ready to face hell. But she won’t show it. She’s trying to hold up other people, but she can’t even hold up herself.

She tells herself lies every morning and says nothing each night. She’s waiting. Natalie is patient. She’s waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for her walls to fall, to crumble. Waiting for any sign of searing pain. She’s ready to scream, but it can’t be forced, ripped from her throat. She wants to cry, but she doesn’t want to seem weak.

The Red Strings, Society's comprehensions, that’s what are keeping her from steady ground. She’s shaking with every breath, holding back tears welling up as she types with no malicious intent in her mind. 

“I write my thoughts on a page.” She says. But what does she really mean. Is it a lie, a trick of light? Is she trying too hard? What is society trying to do, with its reddening gold hues.

She can feel the tears well up as she writes on and on. Even now, she types. The scene she feels thankful for, though. She has a friend with her, a strong one at that. She can feel her chest closing in, anxiety and asthma acting together, but she’s too scared to speak, so she types. 

Suddenly, society’s red and gold hues turn black. The strings wrap tighter and her head is pounding. She feels like she’s choking as society shoves their torments down her throat.

She’s pausing every time, looking up at every sound. She’s scared she’ll hurt someone, society forcing its thoughts about in her head. 

A woman like you shouldn’t be like, this. You are supposed to be kinder, smaller, weaker, able. 

And she wants to push it all away and scream, cry, let it all out. But she keeps up her facade. She’s not ready to back down. Even through cracked screens and blurry eyes, she will throw the punch. She will stand for herself, her friends, people she never knew.

Her back aches from the perfect posture the strings force her to have, but she has to, or it’ll come crashing down on her.

It’ll dawn upon her that she is imperfect, wilting. That she resembles the drowning flowers put in rivers by a child. 

Yet, she waits.   
Yet, she does.  
Yet, she goes.  
Yet, she tries.

And yet society’s red strings force her to continue.

And she still writes.


End file.
